


Gregor and the Interfering Prophet

by Kuronrko98



Series: Daydreaming in the Underland [1]
Category: The Underland Chronicles - Suzanne Collins
Genre: ? - Freeform, Blood, Child Soldiers, Multiverse, Self-Insert, Vague mentions of Homestuck, Weird dreams, because tweens are the only ones actually impressed with them, maladaptive daydreaming, sawyer may pretend to be all cool and mysterious but really it's a front to impress tweens, they know everyone else knows they're full of shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 15:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16537649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuronrko98/pseuds/Kuronrko98
Summary: An alternate timeline of the Underland Chronicles where a Prophet preceded Gregor's arrival in the Underland by nearly sixteen years. Willing to give their life to fight fate and protect their Warrior's loved ones, this Prophet has more than their share of secrets.





	1. A Prologue of Sorts

**Author's Note:**

> This is my NaNoWriMo project for this year! 
> 
> I have immersive (and maladaptive...) daydreams, which I like to write about! Around September, I finally gave in and reread the Underland Chronicles and, unsurprisingly, I had a full blown 'plot takeover' daydream for the entire series. This wasn't my first choice for a NaNo project, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I swapped to this one on Saturday night and wrote about 7,000 words of it in two days. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep up that momentum! I'm gonna try to get the whole first book's worth of the daydream written by the end of the month!
> 
> Every chapter, I'll add in the new characters showing up and any new tags.

I’m supposed to be entering a new universe soon. I don’t know when—that’s being kept from me for ‘continuity reasons’—but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening. Knowing how the game contained in this particular universe has been shown to work in the past, I have a feeling about the when, but that hardly matters.

And now I’ve set the ball rolling on  _ another _ universe. It shouldn’t take long, but that’s taking my normal abilities into account. My real self has the same stagnant energy levels as always, but in the Cube? Here in my daydreams?

I’m just too tired to care about much of anything these days.

“You wouldn’t be if you would think before doing literally anything.”

While my body keeps typing, I turn to glare at the Seer. They flip through my journal, lounging on my bed, wearing  _ my _ face, like they own the place. Granted, they look about as tired as I feel, but really? It’s like they think they even belong in this timeline.

“Right.” They don’t even look up, though they do hover a couple inches off the bed. Petty bastard. “Would you rather end up in a doomed timeline? Dead, dying, or stuck forever? All because you had too much spite to listen to a Seer of Time?”

I wrinkle my nose and join my body facing the computer again. I should be able to get some actual school work done before I drown myself in another daydream. School just started, this is _definitely_ the best time to start a new, overly involved daydream.

“You’re just tiring yourself out putting it off this long.”

I don’t look back this time. They’re probably right. I’ve been struggling to keep from doing this for months. If I’d started this daydream when it first sparked, it would have happened before I get my head turned inside out.

Before I locked myself in a room with an object with peculiar influence over Heart players. Even theoretical Heart players, I guess.

“As if that’s the only reason it tore you apart.” That voice that’s mine but doesn’t belong to me comes again, and I grind my teeth. “The Heart thing’s important, yeah, but you had your head wide open with the cherub’s soul right next to you.”

That’s exactly why I should be trying to recover. This daydream will only make it take longer. Make me more exhausted, even, before the game starts. I should be  _ focused _ on that, not on a nostalgia trip to a place that’s probably gonna give me a panic attack.

The Underland.

Why the hell do I think going into another universe based underground is a good idea? Caves, the dark, heights, _spiders_. I don’t belong there, no matter how much I like the people.

“You don’t have much choice. It’s one of the Things—trademark—I didn’t do in my timeline. The time trails are hella excited for it.” The journal snaps shut and they appear in a brand new chair next to me. “Like half the stupid, impulsive shit you’ve done since I got here. Keep it up, I guess.”  

“So, you’re hanging around  _ why? _ ” I mutter, the sound nothing more than a harsh breath to my ears. Madi’s barely three yards behind me, doing their own work. I shouldn’t be talking out loud, but I  _ hate  _ trying to keep conversations straight in my head. “If everything I’m doing is right, what’s the point in hovering like this?”

They snort.

“Don’t forget, you’d be out of commission if it weren’t for me,” they say lightly. Then they prod by arm so I’ll look at them again. “Besides, I don’t think you have the stamina to do a five book daydream before the game starts.”

_ I’ll be  _ fine _. _

“See, I know that’s a lie because it’s my line as much as yours.” They don’t look away from me, and I wonder why the other members of the Collective don’t give me this weird sense of uncanny valley. “I’m just gonna make sure you don’t pass out at inopportune times.”

I guess there’ll be opportune times to pass out, then.

“Now you’re being combative on purpose.” They shrug and stand. The chair disappears the second they leave it. I guess they’re just as restless as me, then. “You’ve read the books. If you’re playing the prophet card, you’re gonna want an out.”

I don’t answer, because they’re actually right. I won’t have as much information as I do now, but I’ll have enough to make me want to tell people not to do shit they have to do. To keep them safe.

But, no, I have to pull a Dumbledore and let literal children do this dangerous shit. I won’t be able to convince the Regalians that their prophecies are bullshit, let alone the rest of the Underland. All I can hope to do is keep as many people alive as I can.

At least I won’t remember that I’m getting the information from a damn book series. Just a vague concept of the Cube, the packaged ‘visions’ I left for myself, and whatever past the universe has for me.

“Listen.” The joking tone leaves the Seer’s voice. I watch them through the reflection in my computer screen. “I’ll take over whenever I can to make sure you stay coher—”

They turn back toward the rest of the room at the same time I do. The door to this room is loud as hell, I’d have to be dead not to notice it. Madi has it half open, back to the hall beyond to smile at me.

“I’m outta here. Good luck with, uh—” They finger gun gently and back out the door. “Writing? Or whatever.”

“Thanks! Good luck in class!” I call, though I don’t know if they hear it through the racket of the door closing again. I’m actually out of time to kill, so I turn back to the Seer. “You’d better go do your thing if we don’t want our double act to be found out.”

They glance at me, then back out into the room. Their eyes glaze over, looking at something even I can’t see, and they vanish. Did they wait until I told them to go because the time trails told them to? Or because they genuinely stopped paying attention to them?

I stand to struggle with the blinds. My visitor won’t appreciate the light.

Am I like that all the time?

Arrogant and  _ oozing _ an aura of ‘I know more than you?’ I could almost excuse that—they did come from a doomed timeline to save our asses—but the fact that they’re right about it all almost kills me. This is my domain, my home.

I’m supposed to know the cans, the shoulds, the hows, the  _ when _ s in the Cube. I guess, though, that when the two of us are as close to being the same person as we can be we can’t both be right all the time. Certainly not at the same time.

Then again, I think we actually agree on most things underneath the irritation.

Oh, fuck, he’s here.

I barely have time to turn from the window before the kitchen door bursts open. Well, the projection of my kitchen door, which is a relief because I don’t know if I could handle the college telling me to pay for the door hanging off its hinges like that.

If I hadn’t been expecting this visitor, if the memories already trickling into my head from the new universe didn’t flood me with warm recognition, I certainly wouldn’t be worried about the door. I mean, he’s a dusty gray rat standing up to my waist even on all fours. Even without the nasty, diagonal scar across his face, he’d strike fear into plenty braver folks than me.

But, no, I stopped being afraid of Ripred a long time ago.

He kicks the door shut behind him, breath ragged, and slumps against Madi’s desk. Not much can wind him; he must have been running too fast for some time to be so out of breath.

“Hard day?”

He shoots me a dirty look, my light tone apparently not appreciated. He doesn’t argue, though, while he takes a moment to catch his breath.

When he does, he heaves himself upright to regard me. His gaze leaves me for only a second to touch the blocked window.

“Expecting me, as always?” he rasps.

I raise an eyebrow.

“You say that as if you think I don’t know when someone uses my doors,” I tease. “But, yeah, I’m not exactly surprised. Go ahead, make yourself at home.”

All combative tension leaves him, and he does exactly that by sprawling out on Madi’s bed. He takes a luxurious stretch, which I roll my eyes at, and watches me through slitted eyes. “I may just hide out here until the hunt dies down.”

“You’d better not.” I stoop down to rifle through the fridge. There’s like, nothing here, what the fuck. “All I’ve got here is some spinach and I sincerely doubt you’ll want to miss your meeting with Vikus.”

He rolls over, slow and lazy. His gaze turns just a little sharper. I wouldn’t even notice if I didn’t know him so well.

“And why is that?”

“I’m going down in a few minutes. It’s all about to get pretty interesting, and I doubt you want to miss it,” I say with a tight smile. I give up on food and slam the fridge shut a couple times to actually look at him. I find a glower aimed right at me. It, more than anything else, draws a grin out of me. “I know it’s all literal bullshit, but as Vikus would say: The Prophecy of Gray is upon us.”

That’s got his attention. He struggles to get off the soft mattress to slide to his feet on the floor. He rubs his front paws together, gaze shrewd and obviously not actually seeing me. I watch his paws and, really, wish Madi could enter my daydreams just because they love rats so much. Ripred would likely enjoy someone fawning over him, anyway.

Before he can say anything, I clear my throat. “What were they chasing you for?”

His eyes narrow, calculating, before I see him physically let it go. He shakes his head once, claws moved to balance himself when he falls back to lounge on his haunches. I have a feeling I’ll have to answer his questions later, but that’s a problem for future Sawyer.

“I strayed too close to Regalia.” He shrugs. “They don’t take kindly to rats, you know.”

“I never would have guessed, what with the looming war, and all,” I observe mildly.

I take a seat, back in front of my computer. I’m already getting tired. Fatigued. Hopefully, I’ll be able to make it at least a couple hours in Regalia before I have to rest.

“It always amazes me, their willingness to pick a fight,” Ripred notes. It’s light, more pointed than an accusation coming from him. “Even when they’re interfering in something that’s none of their business.”

Yeah, that wasn’t subtle at all.

“They’re just trying to protect the people they care about.” I scroll through the pages of the book until I find where I’m coming in. It’ll be easiest to just read along while I dream, just so I don’t make any mistakes. “If they think they might be saving innocent lives, can we really blame them for running someone they think is the enemy out of their home?”

“I suppose not,” he agrees. He scratches at something, but I don’t look back. “But we both know that’s an excuse. For the Regalians and for you.”

“Aw, I was having fun playing metaphors.” I find my place with a pleased sound in the back of my throat. “I have to go or I’m gonna be behind schedule.

I stretch, both in and out of the daydream. When I stand, though, I leave my real body behind to track where I am. Ripred flicks his gaze between my two selves, the only one in the new universe to know the truth of who and what I am. He doesn’t say anything, through his gaze tracks me mildly while I pull a keyring from my pocket.

“Stay as long as you like, I guess.” I pick past him, and his jaws snap at my fingers when I dare to pat his head. “Just make sure you get back in time for your meeting with Vikus. I’ll bring you that shrimp shit when we run into each other again.”

That perks him up a little. His gaze turns wry, though. “You say that as if you don’t know when that is.”

I shrug and tug the door open, now that the key in its new lock has it leading to a vastly different place. The sight of such complete darkness on the other side smothers my breathing for a second. I don’t know if Ripred notices, but he clears his throat behind me.

I look back with a forced grin. Gotta be reassuring, you know?

“Who, exactly, is the enemy you’re trying to protect us all from?” he asks instead of teasing me. I must really be a mess. “No matter what your friends in the shining city say, I don’t believe for a second that it’s my kind.”

I flick a glance back at my desk. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, the feeling of being watched reaching from that other version of me to myself. I know I’m just reading along. All I am is a narrative, made of words and imagination.

A narrative who can change things, I hope.

I shrug. “Fate, I guess.”

I step back and close the door. I hold my breath against the frozen darkness, but my smile isn’t forced anymore. The exhilaration of entering a universe other than my own has swept it away for the moment.

Time to fuck shit up in a new world.


	2. Chapter 2

The Prophet hardly ever entered the Underland by conventional means. Their presence rarely graced the tunnels above the waterway, save for short meetings. They hadn’t fallen through the chute in twelve years.

They kept this a secret from the Regalians. The humans didn’t need to know about the disappearing doors, the very few individuals who could call them at will. They didn’t need to know every time their precious Prophet visited the tunnels.

So, the Prophet pushed a door open barely out of the bats’ earshot at the closest scout station, near the place the chute would have dropped them. The chill of stone that had never felt the sun killed the summer heat they’d been basking in before.

A shimmer of light, the last traces of their powers from the surface, left a thin, black jacket on their back, a sword in a scabbard on their hip, and a small pouch tied to their belt. As the glow faded, the power of illusion drained from them. With it, went their memories of the world they came from.

The door clicked closed, and the Prophet pressed their hand against the stone that took its place. Cold, it showed no sign it had ever been anything other than a solid tunnel wall.

They grit their teeth and started their path toward the human city of Regalia.

For someone scared of both the dark and being underground, their attraction to the Underland was strange and dangerous. The people and creatures they knew in the world below made it worth it, though, and they’d gotten the hang of echolocation years ago.

Ripred would have made their life a living hell otherwise.

Every few seconds, they tapped their teeth against the rod of metal through their tongue to get a sense of the cavernous tunnel. To make sure they didn’t trip over a stray rock or get taken by surprise by someone hanging around in the gloom. It didn’t seem likely that anyone would appear within these minuscule spaces of time, but the location itself put them on edge.

They only managed to walk a few hundred yards before a rustle of wings alerted them to a bat up ahead. Bats could only mean riders in this area, _humans_. They hadn’t come close enough to be 'visible', but the distant fluttering was unmistakable. They stopped dead, breath stuck in their throat, and waited for the welcome wagon.

After a few seconds, the glow of fire rounded a corner a solid hundred yards above the Prophet’s head. It illuminated the walls and floor just enough to remind them that, yes, they stood in a too-big cave a good distance under New York City. Somehow, their spotty sound-based vision being replaced with actual light made their anxiety worse. It gave life to the shadows and reminded the Prophet of how many hiding places there were in the caves.

The single bat-rider pair settled on the cave floor directly in front of them. It would have been enough to halt them, had they been trying to move forward. As it was, it was enough to tell the Prophet who they were dealing with.

And, in direct correlation, ease a good portion of the tension they’d been trying to ignore in their body.

“Identify yourself!” The figure called from upon his mount.

He lifted his torch as he spoke to throw the Prophet’s face into sharp relief. A smile played upon their lips, and they bent in a lazy bow. It may have been called insolent, had they not known the soldier. The familiar feeling of slotting into Regalian mannerisms gave them comfort.

And delighted them, in the excuse to be dramatic as fuck.

“It is good to see you too, Mareth. Andromeda.” They dipped their head to the bat and grinned openly at the dumbstruck Underlander. “Would it be out of line to ask for a ride to the city?”

“Sawyer?” Mareth sheathed his sword and slid from Andromeda’s back, eyes on the Overlander. “What business have you, skulking in the dark?”

“Is there any other place but the dark to skulk on the path to Regalia?” they asked with an innocent smile. Mareth grimaced, the evasion about as subtle as a rat at a picnic, so they helpfully supplied: “I want to be here for what happens today.”

He blinked, then smiled.

“Nerissa will be overjoyed to know you would be here for her birthday.” He beckoned them toward his bat and mounted again.

Sawyer smiled pleasantly, but didn’t respond. There was no reason to correct his mistake. They knew it was Nerissa’s birthday, they wouldn’t have forgotten for the world, but that wasn’t why they made the trip to the Underland. The fact that the day they’d been waiting for since they first fell happened to be on the the young royal’s birthday was just a happy coincidence.

“Do you know what celebrations are planned?” they asked instead once Andromeda took to the air. They felt more at ease in flight, something their younger self would have been amazed at. “I would like to speak to Vikus if there’s time.”

“I am certain that can be arranged. There are still several hours before the game begins.” Mareth’s cheery voice made the tunnels more welcoming, somehow. Sawyer was able to slide more into the comfortable persona with the confidence it brought. He peered back at Sawyer with a grin. “You will be pleased to know tonight’s feast is not in your honor.”

Sawyer grimaced. Regalians took their prophecies and prophets far too seriously. Too much ceremony surrounding each visit, too many nervous guards and palace attendants. No one knew how to act around an Overlander Prophet who practically grew up in the Underland.

No one wanted to accidentally offend a teen who can apparently see the future.

“Even if today was not Nerissa’s birthday,” Sawyer said carefully, “I expect I would not be the guest of honor at the inevitable party this evening.”

Mareth’s brows shot up. He faced forward and didn’t try to continue the conversation. He would laugh and joke with them until they said something to remind him of who they were. Until they said something cryptic, something alluding to something no one else knew.

It would fade, eventually, especially if they refused to go to training unless he dropped the formal attitude. There was too little laughter in the Underland, too much grim certainty of bloodshed and death. Especially with the things Sawyer had seen, they knew more than many how important it was to linger on the good things.

Hope. Friends. Laughter.

Sawyer sometimes considered taking a vow of silence until the Regalians stopped jamming them on a pedestal. Coming from the choice between complete invisibility or humiliation, the idea of a permanent and reverent spotlight wasn’t exactly appealing.

Mareth gave a short warning a moment before they passed through a curtain of moths into a brightly lit stadium. The stands stood empty, though the stone arena was prepared for a game. Which game Sawyer couldn’t really say. They lost interest in sports, even the airborne ones, about six years ago and most of their limited knowledge of the Underland games were faint and hazy.

But the city beyond took Sawyer’s breath away each time they set eyes on it.

Sawyer grew up in what could either be called a small city or a large town. Nothing much to do but go to a park, leave town for a nature adventure, or leave town for a _city_ adventure. The first time they had come to this city, the sheer size, the spires rising from every building, the massive palace on the opposite end of the city, the dazzling lights after the permanent shadows of the tunnels, it was the biggest thing they’d ever seen.

Now, almost thirteen years later, they lived in a real city.

Portland made Regalia seem small, but _Regalia_ made Portland look shoddy. It wasn’t hard to do that, but there was something about the smooth gray stone, carved and shaped into beautiful spires. It caught their attention, made their creative centers burn. The entire city felt deliberate and beautiful, and they felt as though they belonged there when they were caught up in the sight.

But they  _had_ spent several years elsewhere in the Underland before coming to the city. The sight of Regalia and the knowledge they had survived here with nothing more than a flashlight and the nerve of a child was enough to melt their fears away.

It made them feel silly, really, for being scared of the underground, of the dark. It gave them a good stick to beat their panic down with during moments of weakness. It wasn’t the place itself that brings the need for vigilance, after all. Being scared of the dark wouldn’t make it easier to get out of a tight spot.

That, and the idea of Ripred catching them on edge from irrational fears would be the actual worst. The possibility of either being teased in public or subtly babied by the rat irked them for no good reason. That had kept them from devolving into a mess more times than they could count.

Andromeda circled over the palace once before swooping onto the balcony of the High Hall. The room was empty—save for the beginnings of the preparations for the night’s party. A vast table spanned the hall, festive decorations strung along the walls.

 _If one good thing comes out of this, I didn’t miss Nerissa’s birthday,_  Sawyer thought as they leapt from the bat’s back. _I can’t exactly text her like my friends on the surface._

“It is truly a pleasure to see you, my Prophet,” Andromeda purred. Sawyer turned back, eyes on her rather than her—now impassive—rider. “Celeste will be delighted.”

Sawyer brightened. They forgot the purpose of their visit for the first time since entering the Underland. Their would-be bond was the light of their life, the only one they told their secrets to without worry of her spreading her knowledge ‘for the good of Regalia.’ On this visit, perhaps, Sawyer would be able to move past their guilt at being an absent partner.

They should have become official bonds years ago.

“If you cross paths with her, would you let her know I’m here?” they asked eagerly.

Andromeda huffed a laugh and nodded. She seemed about to speak again when Mareth cleared his throat.

“We must return to our watch,” he reminded her. His gaze was distant and formal, and Sawyer straightened up to meet him with a similar stare. “Be sure to bathe before attending to your duties. I trust you know that way?”

They nodded, curt and sour. He dipped his head, and Sawyer’s faint irritation bloomed into a petty mass of spite.

“Fly you high, my Prophet.”

_Alright, he has to be doing this on purpose now._

“You wanna fight, Mareth?” they offered, tone friendly and absent the Regalian Formality™ they had adopted. More natural, the voice of a west coast college student who doesn’t give a single shit about the proper way to address a soldier. A smile tugged at the edge of Mareth’s mouth, and Sawyer pursed their lips. They truly were the master of perception. “We can do that, if you really want to have an on the fly training session right now.”

“It may reflect poorly on me to spar with the Prophet of the Warrior in the High Hall,” he fretted with a regretful sigh. “Particularly when it is prepared so perfectly for tonight’s festivities.”

Sawyer couldn’t keep the smile out of their voice for more than a few words when they spit out their response.

“It _may reflect poorly_ on you to keep calling me by a title you know I loathe.” Sawyer glanced back to Andromeda, who waited patiently for the two of them to finish. “Not you, Andromeda. As always, you may call me whatever you like.”

She laughed openly, a soft huffing that left Sawyer pleased with themself and Mareth wearing a fond smile. The forced tension was gone, and Sawyer was glad for their friend abandoning his social rules.

“Ah, I am truly glad to see you doing well, Sawyer.” Mareth patted Andromeda’s shoulder and they took flight, the bat still chuckling to herself. “Fly you high.”

“Fly you high, the both of you!”

Sawyer watched the two of them speed away until they were impossible to distinguish from the gloom beyond the city. They much preferred the Underland to their home, if they were to tell the truth. The Regalians may have tiptoed around them, but with that came the leverage to demand the type of respect they preferred.

Being, just enough to be taken seriously.

Mareth, for all he worried about overstepping the boundaries he grew with, was a good friend. He knew where to meet Sawyer, when they were serious and when they were not.

They turned to leave, still with a smile curving their lips. They intended on bathing their Overland scent away before seeking council with anyone, but they barely set foot out of the High Hall before the clap of footsteps froze them in their tracks.

“Sawyer!”

They spun, heart in their throat. Their fingers twitched toward the hilt of their sword, but they had a sudden armful of the young queen of Regalia. It didn’t take more than a beat for them to return her crushing hug. Her crown sat at a precarious angle atop her silvery hair, her hold tight enough to void the breath from the older Overlander’s lungs.

“Oh, Luxa,” Sawyer wheezed. “I haven’t even been away very long.”

“Do not smother the Prophet, cousin,” another voice drawled. Sawyer looked up to see Henry, another of the young royals, loitering at the top of the stairs. “They must have business to attend to. We certainly do.”

Luxa pulled back to respond to her cousin, but Sawyer merely watched him over her head. They never liked Henry, with a tongue to match his silver hair are an attitude sharper than his sword. Still, they weren’t foolish enough to express it, to be openly rude to the queen’s cousin. They may have been older than the young royals, but that gave them the discretion to hold their tongue.

Sometimes.

“Do not speak of them so,” Luxa retorted, her excitement covered with the cocky tilt to her head she held since her parent’s death. When she looked back to Sawyer, however, her violet eyes danced. “When did you arrive.”

“Mareth flew me in moments ago.” Sawyer smiled fondly. They hardly got a chance to feel like an older sibling, and the feeling was refreshing. “I do need to speak to Vikus, however. I would hate to keep you two from your… business.”

They shot a glance at Henry, who wrinkled his nose. The expression disappeared the instant Luxa started back toward him. She raised her hand, another farewell.

“I shall alert the guards you require fresh clothing in the baths.”

The kids slipped into the High Hall, already laughing. Sawyer mused that, perhaps, they only disliked Henry because he also seemed not to trust them from a young age. Mutual dislike, with an uncertain beginning, simply irrational. Or it could have been the vision they still lingered on occasionally, of Henry standing over a sleeping Ripred with a sword. Either one, really, could be plausible.

They shook their head and started down the stairs for the nearest bathroom.

Being alone, their usual weariness nearly doubled. They shot a hand out to catch themself against the wall, stopped dead in the middle of the stairs. Their eyes squeezed shut to block out the rest of the world. The dizzy spell would pass, eventually.

 _I’m just tired_ , they thought. _I need to get to the bath, get some rest. One thing at a time._

A sudden, intrusive presence oozed through their mind like a balm. It soothed the fatigue, cleared their head just a little. Given enough time, it could likely heal them completely. They urged themself to keep going, not to show weakness in front of the Seer, but it didn’t happen.

 _Don’t be an idiot,_ the voice that was but wasn’t theirs hissed. _Take a break. God knows you need it._

Sawyer didn’t need to be told twice. They slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, dead tired. Their consciousness faded. Any passerby would have thought they were dead at first glance.

Still. Cold. Hardly even breathing.

Then—

Their eyes snapped open and they pushed upright on wobbly legs. They lifted their hands and studied them with calculating eyes. They were the same hands, but seen with a slightly different perception. Their gaze strayed to touch on a red line only they could see on the floor, a trail of where they would go, split for every possibility and lit on the favorable decisions.

The Seer of Time left the stairwell with a soft smile and every memory of this world the true Prophet lost upon entering it. Tendrils of thought, only describable by the color red and the distant tick of a clock, separated the knowledge out into the best possible script while the time trails wound their way through the palace.

Some of them, Sawyer recognized. The general feeling of a councilmember muttering about legal functions. A tired soldier on their way back to report. The whole point of coming to the Underland would come from the opposite direction in four hours, nine minutes, eight—

—seven—

—six seconds.

They turned into a bathing room, pausing only for a moment before choosing a side as close to as randomly as the Seer could do anything. The trails didn’t care which side they used, but the left was slightly brighter.

On their way in, they crossed the trail leading back out to find they would remain in the room for nearly an hour. While they went through the motions of bathing, of shucking the last of their Overland presence, they unwound the other path.

An extra few seconds, perhaps. A moment of fear, a misstep on a wet floor, but no harm done. Fewer towels stocked, another heartbeat taken to grope for one. An awkward blip in spacetime, calling out for a figure’s attention rather than running directly into them. A decision with no real effect on the timeline, but discomfort easily avoided.

They’d gotten advice, in the past, to try not looking at specifics. To find the big decisions and only worry about those. Unfortunately, a side effect of being a part of Mx. Sawyer Perry was a slightly unhealthy dose of curiosity, paranoia, and stubbornness. Even if the Cube and many of the attached universes didn’t live by the same life or death rules of spacetime as the one they gained their ability in, they weren’t about to stop checking those little choices.

 _Though, the script_ is _leading up to that universe,_ they mused to themself. _I should probs listen to what S-CUBE wants me to do until we get there._

 _Okay, I get it, you have fancy time powers,_ Sawyer complained in a tired slur in the back of their mind. _Get plot relevant before I come back and pass out in the middle of a sports-ball game._

The Seer laughed and shook their head. Perhaps their narrative was drifting a little. They would make a few adjustments. Avoid making distinctions between the two of them, of course, and avoid long introspection about the abilities they actually still thought were pretty damn cool, okay?

Good luck figuring out who’s behind the wheel with only context cues and throwaway narration, suckers.

It seemed to satisfy the ‘real’ one, at the very least. They stretched back in the basin of running water and allowed themself to relax for the remaining twenty minutes and forty—

—thirty-nine seconds they had left in the bath.

They heaved themself out of the water with a groan. They felt, physically, the other them that chose the other side of the bathing rooms almost slip. By the time the other one made it to the racks of spider-made towels and managed to retrieve one, Sawyer had already dried themself off and was on their way to the changing room.

They let the feeling of the other timeline drift away, focused on the comfort of the towel. They nearly dropped it when the fanged, multi-eyed maker of the thing flickered in their vision.

Jesus, fuck, there was a reason the Cube didn’t have the superior cloth of the spiders. Add another thing to the list of fears lending no help to existing in the Underland.

The spiders made comfortable clothes, though. Their favorite shade of gray too, soft and smoky.

Sawyer tugged at the tight collar of their new silky shirt on the way out of the bathing rooms. Maybe tight wasn’t the right word. It fit correctly, unlike their clothes on the surface, and that might have been the real problem.

“Ah, so the rumors are true.”

Sawyer managed to turn calmly at the voice, rather than spinning like they were under attack. They offered the head of the Regalian council a smile and a respectful nod, one he returned in his approach down the hall. Sawyer liked Vikus because they knew he wouldn’t approve of half the things they did.

It was good to have that kind of perspective, especially when he would undoubtedly be right in most cases.

“Word travels fast,” they noted. “I only arrived—”

_Here? As in Regalia, bodily within the castle? One hour, seven minutes, seventeen—_

— _eighteen seconds_.  

“—an hour ago.”

Vikus stopped in front of them with a look they would venture to call paternal if they actually had a concept of the word other than ‘skateboards and a million movies.’ Something kind, at least, that reflected having watched someone grow. Maybe they were overthinking it.

“Yes, I am aware.” He beckoned them to follow him further down the hall. Distantly, Sawyer heard their mirror call out to catch Vikus’s attention. Nearly fifteen seconds behind, and the gap would only grow. “I have also heard, though it may again be rumor, that you wished to speak with me.”

“And why not?”

As they followed, they puzzled with themself how best to approach the subject. They’d never been good at heavy conversations. Nothing ever came out right, especially when they were trying to be tactful.

Vikus turned through a doorway and drew the curtain open for them to enter. Sawyer paused in the threshold with a tight grip on the stone arch. Their eyes fell out of focus for another moment, and they walked in having only stopped a beat.

They wished there were more private places to speak in the palace. The old meeting room, scrolls still strewn over the stone table, wasn’t particularly _bad_ , but they knew from experience how easy it was to eavesdrop. Curtains would do very little to keep their voices from drifting into the hall.

Vikus took a seat in one of the chairs around the table and gestured for Sawyer to do the same. Even after he prompted them to tell him what was on their mind, they remained silent. They tapped their fingers on the surface of the table and grasped desperately for where to begin.

 _Today’s the day—_ no.

 _The Warrior will be arriving—_ best not to be so blunt.

 _My whole reason for living—_ Vikus would likely trap them in a lecture on self-worth if they let that piece of personal thought slip out.

 _The Prophecy of Gray is upon us_.

But as they looked into Vikus’s eyes, that same lavender as the rest of the Underlanders, they found the words stuck in their throat. What was the point in telling him what he would know in mere hours? Why make this day that much more stressful?

A murmur in the back of their head, accompanied by another wind of energy, assured them this was the right choice. They were never supposed to warn the Regalians of the boy’s arrival.

They sighed.

“I would like to finally bond with Celeste, if she would have me,” they admitted after a too-long stretch of quiet. “And if it would not take too heavily away from the joyous occasion of Nerissa’s birthday.”

Vikus’s pleasant smile grew overjoyed. Bright, followed by a startled laugh. “Oh, my dear Sawyer, I am certain my grand-daughter would be pleased to know you and Celeste would bond at last.”

Sawyer let out a tense breath and allowed themself a embarrassed smile. He'd accepted it it. A single moment of panic, smoothed over by a request for a ceremony that was more of a formality than anything else at this point.

“I would like to have the ceremony as soon as possible,” they continued, riding the high of pure relief and excited to finally take the plunge. “I have thought long and hard about bonding, and I would like it if my nerves would have as few chances to betray me as possible.”

Vikus stood with an understanding nod.

“I will alert the council and send for Celeste.” He paused before starting for the door. “I would assume you want your friends present?”

Sawyer grinned, bursting with the thought they would be bonded with Celeste by the end of the day. “Of course.”

Vikus left the table, and Sawyer smiled to themself, eyes on their hands. Pleased was not a strong enough word to describe how they felt about this turn of events. Instead of putting the city into a frenzy and ruining their friend’s birthday, they will be adding happiness to it.

“Oh, and Sawyer?”

They looked up to find Vikus poking his head back through the curtain, eyes sparkling. “Yes?”

“As I know you pride yourself on your ability to keep secrets, I feel honorbound to inform you: Your formality increases noticeably when you are hiding something.” His smile betrayed his humor, even as he left, but it left a pit of something cold in Sawyer’s stomach. He knew they were hiding something.

 _Well_ , they thought. _At least he’ll only have to puzzle over that one a couple hours._

After all, the second another Overlander appeared later in the day, Vikus would know exactly what Sawyer had been keeping to themself.


	3. Chapter 3

“Celeste the flier, I bond to you,” Sawyer recited, their voice only slightly thick in the otherwise silent room. “Our life and death are one, we two.”

Their hand, locked with their bat’s claw. Their eyes, locked on the glittering black of Celeste’s. They took a bracing breath and were lifted in spirit by a soft chirp Celeste made in front of them.

“In dark, in flame, in war, in strife: I save you as I save my life.”

You could hear a pin drop, the room was so still. No one spoke through the weighted air following their declaration. They were old words, a tradition as old as the city itself, and Sawyer respected that. Celeste only took a moment to turn the words back.

“Sawyer the human, I bond to you,” she purred, smooth and kind. “Our life and death are one, we two. In dark, in flame, in war, in strife—”

She paused, a moment’s understanding passed between her and her new bond.

“—I save you as I save my life.”

The pure joy at having finally done it, at being _bonded_ , left their knees weak. Celeste still hadn’t let go of their hand, and waited for Sawyer’s nod to do so. They staggered without the slight support, but a cool balm of a flickering presence in the back of their mind kept their fatigue from growing.

The room burst into applause. The few council members that could be spared to come chattered in their seats. Vikus and Solovet could be seen watching wordlessly, though they stood as a united front in a rare show of solidarity. Luxa and Aurora—her golden bond—leapt onto the raised platform to congratulate the bonded pair.

“I was beginning to think you would never do it.” Luxa pressed close to catch the both of them in a hug. “Truly, I am happy for you.”

“I told you,” Aurora could be heard saying to the gray bat. “They simply needed time.”

Even Henry and his bond, the great black bat Ares, approached moments later. Henry was still haughty, but Ares seemed genuinely pleased.

“There are many reasons to celebrate this day,” he purred. “A royal birthday and a bonding long overdue.”

“I do not imagine you would dare play in tonight’s game, though you are now a bonded pair?” Henry teased, and for once that was all it was. A light jab, all in good fun. “I have seen you fly together, you may even be capable of taking second from my dear cousin.”

“Oh—” Luxa turned and shoved Henry, though his laughter only doubled. “Do not be so sure of yourself.”

Sawyer gasped in feigned shock and touched their forehead. Both royals turned to the older Overlander in anticipation. All three knew neither Vikus or Solovet would approve of these fake predictions, but where was the fun in making it all so seriously? “I do not believe either of you will win tonight.”

Luxa’s brow shot up in surprise, while Henry grinned as though he’d been promised a treat.

 _Imagine,_ Sawyer thought. _Their Prophet finally letting loose on the night there won’t be_ any _winner._

“I did not expect you to come.” The three jumped and turned to face Nerissa. The eldest but frailest of the royal children, she regarded Sawyer with a dreamy look betraying no displeasure at the thought. “A welcome surprise of course, though it is most uncharacteristic of you; coming here when you go to such lengths to avoid celebrations.”

Sawyer froze for just a moment. They stared at Nerissa, the idea that she may have seen the same signs they had chilling their blood. She wouldn’t interfere, would she? Not in duties that Sawyer had claimed as a birthright?

It was long enough for Henry, to the surprise of all, to come to the Prophet’s defense. Though, perhaps ‘defense’ wasn’t the right word.

“Oh, I do not know about that,” he mused. “I believe they have been known to love a party so long as it is not their own.”

Sawyer flushed with a barely-forced laugh. Henry was right of course, Sawyer would find any excuse to attend the feasts and parties in the Underland as long as the focus was anywhere else. They weren’t there to be fawned over, they were there because they had a job to do.

It was a job they would have chosen if they’d been given the option, too.

One look at Nerissa confirmed such a flimsy cover wouldn’t satisfy her. Not even when they stood amongst the celebrations following a bonding ceremony. Not when Sawyer legitimately considered Nerissa one of their close friends, and would have come to her party whether they had a job there or not.

They mentally blocked the younger royals out, though no hoping would keep them from hearing these words. They gave Nerissa a smile and a piece of the truth.

“You have always been perceptive. Though, even if I came here today for ulterior reasons, I would have rathered it be a different day so as not to disturb one meant for you.” They rifled through their pouch without looking. Nerissa’s clear eyes watched them, curious and placid. “I would wait, but something tells me I will have very little time to socialize after tonight’s game.”

“Sawyer?” Luxa touched their arm, tentative for possibly the first time since she was very young.

Sawyer didn’t look at her. They curled their fingers around a rough, hard object the size of an eraser in the pouch and withdrew it. They held it out to Nerissa, a simple and quaint gift.

She took it and held it to the torchlight.

“A stone?” she guessed uncertainly. The crystalized edges of the object did seem reminiscent of stone, but Sawyer shook their head.

“Petrified wood,” they explained. “Preserved by time. It is just a curiosity, a trinket, but I thought it would be interesting.”

Luxa and Henry crowded around Nerissa to get a look at the gift. Sawyer didn’t stick around to witness their excitement or answer their questions. They turned back toward Celeste.

“Meet me at the High Hall,” they muttered, though the bat was still chattering with Luxa and Henry’s bonds.

She showed no sign of it, but Sawyer knew she had heard. Likely enough, every bat in the room did, but Sawyer didn’t mind. Going on a celebratory flight after bonding was expected, even on a day as important as a royal birthday party.

They slipped off the platform, away from the chattering royals. Several councilmembers and soldiers they had fought with in the past stopped them for congratulations. None of them kept them up for long, and Sawyer wondered just what it was that told the Regalians when they had a _thing_ they were supposed to be doing. A look in their eyes? A general aura of irritation?

They reached Solovet and Vikus annoyed, but undeterred. Vikus was pleased to see them. He offered them genuine congratulations, and they accepted as politely as their impatience would allow them. They had truly come to speak with his wife, and she already watched them as if she knew they would come.

“You are looking simply _radiant_ today, General,” they gushed with a too-friendly nod. They suspected they were toeing the line a little close, but it was too late to back out of the flattery route. “And I hear your campaign in the deadlands is progressing… nicely.”

They left it at that. Solovet knew how they felt about her conquests against the rats. Pretending otherwise wouldn’t have helped their case.

“Not as nicely as I would like.” Her smile was amused, though her tone remained cold. “What is it, exactly, that you want?”

“Command of one of your soldiers until I return to the surface,” they admitted with no hesitation. “Which will be no longer than ten days from now.”

Her brows shot up, and she considered the Overlander more critically. “Only one? I assume you have a specific soldier in mind.”

“Yes.” They took just a second to decide there was no point in beating around the bush. “Mareth.”

“And what, pray tell, would you be asking the poor man to do?”

 _The poor man. Please, you’ve asked the worst possible of your soldiers and you expect_ me _to be irresponsible?_

“Nothing you would object to,” they assured her. “Simple guard duty and a few hours of training.”

“As Mareth is already your trainer, you have the right to ask for his time.” She pursed her lips, her suspicion not gone in the slightest. “Guard duty, you could ask of whoever you pleased without my permission. Why request command of him?”

If there was no other time to tell the truth of the events set in motion that night, that was it. The request of _why_ from the head of the Regalian military. Solovet had the power to make their visits in Regalia miserable or to stop altogether, more so than any other individual in the city.

They hesitated long enough for Solovet’s eyes to narrow.

“There will be a moment tonight, when you will have an instinct to assign Mareth a specific duty,” they replied, each word chosen with extreme care. “I guarantee that I will have the same instinct, but that will be when you know why I have asked for Mareth and why I have asked to choose where he is stationed in the following days.”

Vikus opened his mouth to speak, concerned eyes on his wife, but she held up a hand to keep him silent. She watched the Prophet with a searching, calculating gaze. Sawyer held their breath, unsure what would happen if she said no.

“Very well.” She shifted her attention to call a soldier over.

Vikus leaned close to Sawyer. “I do hope you will let one of us in on what you know. Solovet gets nervous when you keep secrets.”

“I know.” They tried not to read into the shrewd gaze Solovet had fixed on them again. “I have a feeling you will figure it out on your own, though. I would hate to take that away from you.”

“Prophet.” A bolt of irritation nearly had Sawyer in a snarl before they remembered they had to play nice for Solovet. They turned to her and the young, nervous soldier at her side. “Diren will be taking Mareth’s place at the perimeter. Would you like to give him a message to pass on?”

Sawyer internally winced at how forced her patience sounded, but turned to Diren without more than a nod. The boy had the same general look as the other Underlanders, transparent skin Sawyer hardly batted an eye at anymore, silver hair, purple eyes. He was scrawny, though standing straight and proud, and looked about ready to piss his pants.

Great.

“Tell Mareth to meet me at the arena,” they said. Their tone was not one they used in Regalia often. Not outside of battle, outside of training. A commanding mockery of the verging on apathetic one they’d cultivated for the Underlanders. They barely registered Vikus’s surprised, though they should have expected it considering his experience with this side of them was more limited than Solovet’s. “As soon as possible.”

He scurried off before Solovet could dismiss him. She shot a glance at Sawyer. “If only you could act this way at all times.”

“If every word I spoke was a command, would you be able to distiguish which of them were the important ones?” Their soft smile had returned, the distant voice back in place. “I perform when I need to, is that not enough?”

“So long as you continue _performing_ when _I_ need you.” She waved a hand dismissively.

Sawyer didn’t need more than that. They nodded to Vikus, to their General, and left their own after-party at a jog. They wouldn’t be able to keep up their go-go-go pace much longer, but they didn’t have much choice.

The Seer pushed back into their head, silent company with an invigorating effect on everything they touched. Sawyer was tempted to ask their double for advice, but did they really need it? They could see what they would need, where they needed people to be, did they need extra help?

Especially when they needed the help just to keep the frenetic pace a Prophet with a Warrior to keep alive had to have. So much to do, but there simply never seemed to be enough time.

 _Time B)_ , the Seer cut in.

 _You stop that_ , Sawyer thought. _You can’t think in emoticons._

_Just try to stop me. They have a mental sound, and you know it. :)_

Sawyer just shook their head. They weren’t going to get into a debate on how they could possibly be saying those things with audible sounds. Not when half of their own thoughts were taken up by memes and vine references.

 _In all seriousness, I don’t think you have to worry about it,_ they said, but from a further distance than before. _It likes you for some reason_.

_What are you doing?_

_I’m a little busy, so I’m experimenting with how far I really need to be in your head to keep you going_ , they explained. _If it’s not enough, let me know. We can’t have you ‘passing out in the middle of a sports-ball game,’ can we? ;)_

Right.

They had declared their intent to play at the game. They were used to pushing through their fatigue to fight. Or, their fatigue was used to falling away as their forced instincts kicked in during a fight. They would have to improvise during the game.

They didn’t pause once when they entered the High Hall. Didn’t spare a glance at the lavish decorations or the placement of the tables. The next time they entered the room, it wouldn’t be set that way, anyway.

So, no, they didn’t stop. They broke into a run, in fact, to bolster their confidence as they approached the balcony of the High Hall and leapt.

The first time they plunged from a very high place in the Underland, it was an accident. It was how they had met Celeste, really, the bat with the fastest reaction time to the sight of a young Overlander plummeting from the High Hall. It dispersed any ill-conceived notions of falling being peaceful and serene. The ground had come too fast, their face raw with the wind and tears even after having been caught.

Since then, after years of repeated proof they would not fall to their death, the moment of falling had allowed their heart to jump with pleasure rather than fear. The same excitement they held for roller coasters and body piercings, they reserved for the experience of hurling themself off buildings in the city of Regalia.

It only doubled their paranoia of falling in the Overland, but the security was pleasant in the Underland.

They hadn’t checked to be sure Celeste would be there, but the gray bat caught them after a fraction of a second of weightlessness. They wrapped their arms around their bond’s neck, her fur soft against their cheek. She chirped, the same sound she had made during the ceremony.

It conveyed many things. Calm. Pleasant skies. One of the many ways Celeste and Sawyer had created a shorthand with no meaning to anyone but them. Part of a code with little connection to either English or the language of the bats mostly inaudible to humans.

Sawyer made the same practiced sound. They relaxed, completely limp on Celeste’s back. Between the Seer’s presence and the opportunity to not move at all, they were able to retrieve some of their lost energy. “We’ve got some specialized training to do, my dude.”

“Oh?” Her ears twitched in interest. “The usual place?”

“Nah, just the arena.” Their voice was a little muffled, but they made no effort to free up the sound. “Nothing we gotta hide this time.”

There was a moment of silence, while Celeste changed directions.

“I was beginning to think we would never bond.” She paused. “Not officially, at least.”

“Sorry,” they mumbled.

“I understand why you were hesitant,” she assured them. “As I have told you, I do not mind your extended absences.”

“I know. You’re right.”

“I do not need to be right, I am all too aware of what was holding you back.” Her voice softened, and her formality collapsed with another chirp, this one slightly different. “But as you don’t admit being wrong very often, I’d like it if you would say it again.”

“You’re _right_ ,” they whined. “I’ve wanted to bond with you for years, but my brain is too dumb.”

“Your brain isn’t dumb.”

They were going to change Regalian language patterns, one bat at a time.

They made a wounded groan, but they had to actually sit up when Celeste came in for a landing in the stone arena. The set-up for the game still looked completely foreign, but Sawyer leapt from their bond’s back with a broad grin. They considered the arena as if they knew what the hell they were looking at.

“I just heard the strangest thing.”

Sawyer turned, their smile not budging. Pleasant. Confident. Probably slightly unnerving to anyone with the slightest knowledge of how long smiles were supposed to last.

But Mareth didn’t seem to notice in his approach. They nearly asked where Andromeda was, but the two bats were already doing cartwheels above their heads.

“Is it true you requested command over my station?” he demanded when the two were face to face. “Without speaking to me first? Why?”

They nodded and turned back to the game set-up with more serious consideration. Their smile, though now faint, still seemed a little overdone. “I’ll tell you if you swear not to repeat it.”

“Of—”

“Not even Solovet,” they clarified. They knelt down to pick up a ball at their feet while they waited for him to consider that. The ball wasn’t very yielding, it would probably hurt if it hit them.

“So long as they do not put the city in danger, I will keep your secrets,” he agreed grudgingly.

“Okay, two reasons. The Warrior is arriving tonight during the game and I need someone I trust assigned to keep an eye on him.”

They turned and threw the ball to him. He only barely caught it, his eyes wide. The prospect of Sandwich’s Warrior arriving was a touchy subject with Regalians. They looked forward to it with great excitement, with _whispers_ and _hope_. They also tended to be nervous when the signs of the Prophecies cropped up, what with the wars attached to them.

The day of the Warrior’s arrival was one commonly discussed in council meetings. What would Sawyer’s role be? When to give him the sword? Could they give it to him before Sawyer’s part in its journey had come to pass?

How much could they force Sawyer to tell them without ensuring their failure?

Sawyer expected him to ask questions, but he turned his gaze down to the ball.

“And the second?”

They grinned and raised a hand to alert Celeste. “I need to learn how to play tonight’s game. You have, like, three hours to teach me.”

They caught Mareth’s exasperated expression before they took a running start and vaulted into the air. Celeste swept them up and Mareth joined them moments later.

The game was not a difficult one in theory, but it had a lot of moving parts. Specifically, a couple dozen bats, their riders vying for the ball, and the _incredibly_ small hoop meant for scoring through. After covering the basic rules, Mareth focused on tactics that would help against Ares wingspan, Henry’s cunning, Aurora’s speed, and Luxa’s flexibility.

By the time other players had begun arriving on the field and Mareth suggested they stop to keep the others from realizing they hadn’t played before, they were almost confident. Sawyer left Mareth with a friendly ‘order,’ to meet them in the High Hall once the game was over. Celeste had evidently played with bondless riders while Sawyer was away, so she could at least maneuver correctly. Sawyer was very good at interpreting what their bond wanted of them, so they thought they had a chance.

_Although, wouldn’t it be funny if—_

By the time news of a convoy of crawlers approaching with two Overland children hit the stadium, the game was in full swing. Henry had scored five points. Luxa was right behind him with four. Several others were sitting pretty at three.

Sawyer was having the time of their life with zero points scored. They did try their best, and Celeste truly was a magnificent flier, but the others simply had more practice. Both of them had to hold back their laughter every time someone else scored and Henry or Luxa swung around to regard the Prophet gloatingly or with concern respectively.

When the news _did_ come, however, the both of them turned on a dime and hurtled toward Sawyer. Henry was _furious_. He demanded to know if they knew. When they shrugged, Luxa cut in.

“It was a real prediction, then?” she leaned precariously over the open air. “What you said at the party?”

They shrugged again with an indecisive sound. “All I said was neither of you would win. If the game never finishes, I guess I was right, hm?”

Henry groaned and Ares took him back to starting positions. With eight points required to win the game, Henry would need to make three more shots in about ten minutes. Luxa remained for a few seconds longer.

She hesitated, then asked, “Is it him?”

Sawyer’s only answer was a signal for Celeste to return to the starting position. Luxa joined them a beat later, and Sawyer pretended not to notice how she tried to catch their eye.

The game resumed, but the other players were distracted by the promise of a new Overlander coming to the city. It wasn’t everyday such visits came, after all. Even Henry wasn’t on his best form, but that may have been from the anger rather than excitement.

In any case, Sawyer managed to make a solitary point by the time the roaches poured into the arena with the Overlanders. Sawyer didn’t wait to see what happened. Didn’t watch Luxa show off for the Overland boy. Didn’t watch the little girl poke the Queen of Regalia in the eye over a ball.

They clicked their tongue and Celeste wheeled around to rocket toward the foot of the stands to wait for Vikus and Solovet to reach the field. They would have to explain themself, would have to apologize for keeping things secret. They couldn’t find the willpower to feel bad, though.

Though the Seer had left them when the crawlers entered the arena, a buzzing energy filled Sawyer’s bones. It wouldn’t last, they knew that, and it would leave them weak and dizzy when it drained away, but that didn’t make it any less real. They had a task, and their purpose in the Underland had finally arrived.

The Prophet of the Warrior, after all, is of little use other than smoke and mirrors without a Warrior to serve.


	4. Chapter 4

“Do you expect me to line out everything I have ever seen in a bulleted list?” Sawyer demanded while others streamed from the stands around them.

“To ensure my city survives?” Solovet raised a brow. Cool and collected, as always. “That is exactly what I want of you.”

Sawyer held her gaze and managed a brief smile, emboldened.

“If you want your city to survive, you should learn to trust me.” They jerked their head toward the crawlers, where Luxa still stood with the Warrior and a toddler. His sister? “Give me agency where the Warrior is concerned, and you can be certain peace will come to Regalia.”

“You think you can bring peace when no one else has managed such a feat in centuries past?” Her lip twitched, almost a sneer, though her voice remained light. “How arrogant.”

Sawyer shook their head, slight, as if to knock a fly loose. They turned to look at their Warrior. “Not me. All I get to do is try to limit the collateral _he_  willhave to deal with when this is all over.”

“You cannot keep your secrets forever, _Prophet_.” She lifted a hand to alert her bond, Ajax.

Sawyer shrugged and started toward Vikus, who waited patiently not far away. “My secrets have never been in danger of destroying me when I shine light on them. Can you say the same?”

Solovet didn’t answer.

“Why must you provoke her?” Vikus sighed when Sawyer joined him. They headed over to the convoy of crawlers.

“Call it retaliation for her changing our agreements around,” they grumbled. “I jump the hoops she sets up for me, but I told her years ago how thin a line we have to walk.”

 _You said ‘we’ >:O, _ the Seer whispered in the back of their head. They hadn’t noticed the second presence, but it flooded in with the lingering message of dismay and warning.

Vikus didn’t seem to have noticed. “Solovet gives you much leeway, do not forget.”

Sawyer dipped their head without another word. They couldn’t risk letting too much slip in their excitement. They focused instead on the queen, who now regarded a crawler who had scurried closer than the others.

“Give you five baskets, give you?” the giant cockroach asked in a reproachful hiss. The others, still hanging back, clicked to each other excitedly. Sawyer caught snatches, a phrase about royalty, the prospect of grain.

Oh.

She was bargaining with them for the Overlanders. Sawyer nearly called out, but Vikus lifted a hand to stop them, halting them both a few yards from the scene. He watched her with gentle curiosity, and Sawyer tried to look closer.

She had frozen with her mouth open, then closed it again. She turned to gaze at Gregor. Sawyer wished they could actually see her face, rather than needing to rely on the carefully poised set of her shoulders. They knew they couldn’t really talk shit about putting on a mask like that, but it made it difficult to make any guesses about what she was going to do.

* * *

After a long moment, Luxa huffed and jerked an almost-respectful nod to the cockroach. “We will give five baskets,” she agreed grudgingly. Something told Gregor that wasn’t what she had wanted to do.

“What was that all about?” he asked while the roaches poured out of the stadium.

She turned back to him. “The crawlers presented you. Payment is customary.”

“What would they have done if you hadn’t given them what they wanted?”

She shrugged. “The crawlers would have likely brought you elsewhere.”

He stared in horror. What did ‘elsewhere’ mean? Different humans? Would they have taken them into the tunnels and abandoned them? Or maybe, they would have just eaten Gregor and Boots.

“You handled that very well, Luxa.”

Luxa and Gregor turned to find an old man approaching with an older teen he thought would fit right in in New York City, if it weren’t for the smoky blue-gray get up. He couldn’t quite figure… him (?) out, though not being able to see through _someone’s_ skin put him a little at ease.

Navy hair, obviously dyed, shifted to cover gray eyes when he turned to whisper to the man still regarding Luxa—wait, no, there was something about the line of that jaw that made him think—but, really, that shirt was too tight to hide much of anything and his build was… but the curl of her (?) smile—

“Five baskets is a steep price,” Luxa muttered beside him. “But we have little choice.”

The old man’s companion turned away from him to look at Gregor. He met those gray eyes, and something slotted into place in the back of his head. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something changed in that instant.

Then, they passed over him as if he wasn’t even there.

“Thank you, Luxa.” They smiled, and Gregor gave up at their ambiguous voice. “It would have made it difficult had the crawlers seen fit to take your guests to the gnawers.”

Something about that didn’t sit well with Gregor. Surprise flickered over Luxa’s face, but the old man cleared his throat before she could say anything. He rested a hand on the stranger’s arm. “Perhaps you should—”

They waved a hand, already backing away.

“Of course. Celeste and I shall join you all for dinner, then” Their gaze touched Gregor again, and Gregor would have had to be blind to miss the relief crossing their face. They broke eye contact by dipping their head in his direction. “Until next time, Gregor.”

They spun around, took a running start, and leapt into the air. A sleek gray bat dove beneath them in perfect timing and swept them away. Gregor watched them go until they crossed over the vast wall at the edge of the arena.

How had they known his name?

The old guy sighed. When Gregor turned back to him, he was looking at the wall, too. After a moment, he shook his head with a weary smile and looked at Gregor. “Do forgive our Prophet. They have greatly anticipated your arrival and they would never miss an opportunity to impress.”

Gregor had to fight the instinct to take a step back. The guy seemed nice and all, but this was all a little much. “They _knew_ we were coming?”

Vikus hesitated. “We all heard of your fall when the crawlers approached the city,” he explained. “Sawyer has always been pleased to meet new Overlanders in Regalia.”

“But, Vikus—”

Luxa cut off at a warning look from Vikus. She averted her eyes, but didn’t look all that happy about deferring to him. He turned grave eyes, the same purple as the queen’s, on Gregor.

“Tell me, Gregor the Overlander: Are you from New York City?”

* * *

 “Are you alright?” Celeste swiveled her head around in an attempt to check on her rider, but she could not.

“Yeah, I—” Sawyer fell forward with a thump against her back. The bat didn’t falter, but she did take a turn to lengthen the trip to the palace. They grumbled into her fur, “—I’m _fine_.”

 “I’m not touching down until you tell me how bad it is.”

They sighed. She wasn’t playing around and they knew it. _Rate your_ ~~_pain_~~ _exhaustion on a scale of one to ten!_

“Six. I’ve been pushing myself too hard,” they admitted. “I just gotta give Mareth his orders, then I’ll take a nap.”

Celeste chittered, a concerned sound. A pang of guilt forced Sawyer to struggle upright again.

“The Seer will come back if I need them, okay?” They ran a hand over her glossy gray fur. They knew they only had to ask and the Seer would return, but they _also_ knew they were busy. They had real work to do while Sawyer was out riding bats and listening to prophecies. “I can rest when this is all over.”

“Will the fatigue go when the Warrior’s duties are fulfilled?” Celeste asked, back on course for the palace.

“I wish I knew.”

Celeste banked down into the High Hall where Mareth waited patiently. Already, attendants rushed around to strike the preparations for the birthday party. With a new Overlander present, there would be no chance to celebrate Nerissa’s birthday with a feast.

Considering Nerissa’s normal level of fatigue was worse than Sawyer’s, with her visions being more erratic and varied, they had a feeling she would probably be grateful. She tended to leave parties early. Still, if Sawyer had been able to choose, they would have had the Warrior come another time.

They fortified themself and slid from Celeste’s back. She made a sound, so high they almost couldn’t hear it, but its meaning was clear. They would see her soon. Instead of taking off out of the High Hall again, she made for the door into the halls.

Mareth cocked his head in a question, but Sawyer had other things on their mind.

“Keep an eye on the Overlander until he takes to bed,” Sawyer said. It didn’t sound like an order, too soft, too tired. “I’ll find you when I need you next, go where you think you will be needed most between the two. Maybe send someone to wake me up if I don’t get to the High Hall within the hour of dinner.”

“Yes, my Prophet.”

For once, there was no joke, no taunt in those words. The way he followed their command without question made them uneasy. They didn’t want this dynamic to follow them into the Underland, but it seemed they would always be that person.

They considered it a blessing that their employers on the surface were no longer a danger to their friends underground. Perhaps, though, their accidental tendency to give orders might put them all in danger anyway. They weren’t responsible, no matter how much they pretended to have all the answers.

Sawyer wanted to warn him not to trust them. They had the sudden urge to call Celeste back, to scream from above Regalia that they were just as likely to get them killed as lead anyone to safety. Why should they trust them, why—

_Go to sleep, Sawyer._

Sawyer hesitated only a moment. They dipped their head to Mareth.

“Thank you for everything,” they murmured. “And I am truly sorry for everything that may follow.”

They spun on their heel and stalked into the corridor without waiting for an answer. They didn’t register the walk to their chambers. Later, they would remember nodding to several soldiers passing by, but it passed in a whirl of grays in the moment.

The curtain ripped partially off its hangers when they swiped a hand out to lurch into their room. They didn’t bother to try closing it. Their energy was rapidly depleting, and the slight presence of the Seer in the distance was too far away to help.

Their legs buckled a step away from the bed, so they fell forward into the bedding with their feet hanging of the end. Before they could adjust themself, a wing draped over them. They didn’t bother to drag themself all the way on the bed. They were already on their way out of consciousness.

“Know that I trust your judgment,” Celeste murmured in the dark, her voice content and dreamy. “Even when you do not.”

 _Your bond knows you well_ , the Seer whispered, much closer now. Sawyer didn’t try to pull out of sleep. They needed the rest, no matter how much help they were getting to stay awake. _Sleep, Sawyer. Everything will look better when you wake._ _(⌒◡⌒)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to match this up with the book's chapters. As it gets further in and deviates more from the original books, there will be more and more from Gregor's POV, but right now most of his narration would pretty much be the same with very few exceptions.


	5. Chapter 5

_I know what to expect before I open my eyes._

_Golden apples hang from flourishing trees as far as the eye can see. Rats pour over the lush ground, frozen in their flight. The fear doesn’t reach me, the moment of time calm despite what it was._

_I tip my head back to find scores of bats in the skies, Regalian soldiers only now noticing the approach of the water. Some have already started pulling up out of its way. Others stare, frozen in place by the roar of sound I can’t hear._

_One of the Regalians tries to hold a young Overlander. If it weren’t for their eyes, gray rather than purple, and their opaque skin they may have easily been mistaken for an Underlander. Pale, as if they hadn’t seen the sun in months, and with hair only shades darker than the woman forcing them to stay on the bat, they shouldn’t have been alive in the Underland without protection._

_I almost approach, but I don’t need to. I don’t need to see the frozen child stuck in a silent scream for the lives of the rats unable to escape from the torrent._

_I turn, instead, to the water. It starts only a few feet away from me, growing from a few inches of water into a wall. With it stuck in one place, figures of those unlucky enough to have been caught can be seen as dark shapes. Before I can take a step into the beginning marshes, the snap of a twig behind me turns me back around._

_The child stands between two of the trees just beside a rat I know very well._

_He doesn’t have the scar across his face yet. Two pups follow at his heels in the middle of their strides. I glance to the side, in the direction they’re running, and catch sight of a tunnel. It’s larger than the others, and only a few of the others have reached it._

_Ripred will make it._

_“This is where it all began,” the child said, their voice unnaturally loud. They touched Ripred’s terror-stricken face with a faint smile. “The first step toward where you are now.”_

_“If you have something to show me, you may as well do it.” My voice makes no sound, but they look at me attentively anyway. “We don’t have much time.”_

_They nod. They take a single step forward, and they appear directly in front of me. They should be much shorter than I am, but somehow I don’t have to look down to meet their eyes._

_Small hands touch my face, and the water hits me._

_“Be careful—”_

_Ripred leans against a cave wall, though I can’t see him with my eyes. He turns to look at something. When I try to do the same, the wall of water overtakes me again._

_Wind whips against my face, and I find myself sitting on an impossibly large bat. The child sits across from me, curious eyes trained on me. They turn a wooden figurine over in their hand._

_“And you are certain this is wise?” they say in Solovet’s voice. “Allowing four children to travel alone?”_

_My mouth moves without my permission._

_“Not alone,” I say in a slow echo. “I think you know who I would choose to guide them.”_

_“The rat?” their eyes raise in a way I wish they wouldn’t. “You have always been too trusting of your… contacts.”_

_“I have more reason to trust them than I do you, with all due respect.” A rushing sound almost drowns my voice out. “If you would just listen to them—”_

_The child thrusts the figurine at me. I take it and realize it’s a puppet. The strings rise into the darkness above, loose for now. I have a feeling there’s something up there waiting to pull it to life. I turn it over to find a delicately carved version of myself. I blink, and it turns into Henry, Luxa’s cousin._

_The child opens their mouth impossibly wide and a boy’s voice shrieks through it, “Boots!_ ”

_The strings snap and the figure slips through my fingers, through the fading fur of the bat._

_“Trust your instincts.”_

_I spin around at the sound of my own voice to be faced with what I think is the wall of water. It stops inches from my face, close enough for me to see my reflection morph into a line of faces, only some of them I know. Close enough for me to recognize it for what it is._

_Blood._

_It hits me again, and this time it doesn’t let me go. I take a breath, expecting air, but I only choke on the hot liquid. I try to reach for my throat, but something holds my hands. I look down into the murk._

_The blood vanishes._

_I remain suspended in the air with the tiny hands of the toddler from the arena clasped around my wrists. Her wide brown eyes hold my gaze._

_She tips her head. “Where tick?”_

_When the water hits this time, it knocks me against something hard and everything goes black._

* * *

“My Prophet!”

Without thinking, they flung themself upright.

Or, they tried to. Their head collided with something solid and fingers disappeared from around their wrists. The spike of pain in their forehead only disoriented them further, but they managed to open their eyes.

An unfamiliar young soldier stood a few paces away, hand held to her nose. That must have been what Sawyer hit their head on. Lovely.

They swallowed. They couldn't quite shake the taste of blood.

Celeste fluttered nervously beside the bed. “I told you not to get so close. They do not wake well.”

“I will remember that in the future,” the soldier replied, voice thick in her attempt to stem the blood trickling from her nose. “Mareth sent me to bring them to dinner.”

“They need to—”

“How long have I been sleeping?” Sawyer asked. Their head felt much clearer, though it ached to hell and back, and they had already pushed themself upright. They had fallen asleep with their sword and pack still fastened at their hip, so the soldier was probably wise to try subduing their hands before waking them.

“Hardly three hours,” Celeste muttered, and the soldier shifted nervously. They didn’t have the heart to tell her they weren’t asking her.

 _Three hours, twelve minutes,_ the Seer reported promptly. _I bent time a little, though so you got the equivalent of six hours and twenty-five. ;)_

 _How long should that last?_ They dragged themself to their feet. “That should be enough to get me through dinner, Celeste.”

_You’ll get further than that, even without my help._

“Of course it is.” She dipped her head. “Though I doubt you plan to rest after eating.”

Sawyer smiled, pleased when Celeste gave in and returned it. “We shall see, I suppose.”

“Dinner will begin soon,” she informed them, hesitant and uncertain. “I am supposed to bring you up.”

Sawyer nodded toward the door. “Please, lead the way before I starve.”

_That would be because you haven’t eaten in about twelve hours, as far as your body’s concerned._

The soldier looked relieved, though their nose still bled. Sawyer guessed she was expecting to have trouble getting them out to cooperate. They sighed and dug in their pack. They handed the kid a napkin, maybe they could keep her from damaging it.

In the firelit corridor, Sawyer walked at the soldier’s side.

“So, what do they call you?”

She twitched. It was something between a glance at Sawyer and an attempt to shake her head. “Lenore.”

They smiled. “What did Mareth tell you before sending you down?” they asked gently.

Her mouth pressed into a line. It only doubled Sawyer’s curiosity. After a moment, she spoke.

“He said, ‘the Prophet will give their orders, but they are notoriously trying when having to follow orders themself.’” She shot a nervous look at Sawyer.

“That is certainly fair.” They shrugged. “But he should also have told you that food is the best way to get me to do anything. Like a shiner but, you know, with a backbone and an understanding of loyalty.”

Surprise broke through her nervous expression into a startled laugh.

 _Good,_ Sawyer thought. _Burn that pedestal to the_ ground _._

“May I ask you a question?” Lenore asked uncertainly.

“That depends on the question.” They kept their tone neutral. If it was another request for fortune telling—

“What—” She bit her lip when they entered the stairwell. “What were you dreaming of when I woke you?”

Sawyer stopped on the first step. Celeste fluttered to their side with an inquisitive chirp. They shook their head, point blank refusal of an excuse to leave. Lenore looked back, concerned.

“Are you alright? You do not have to answer if—”

“I am fine, truly.” They flashed a smile. “I am hardly asked of my dreams outside of council meetings. I see it as a relief, actually.”

She didn’t inquire further, but Sawyer wanted to answer. They still felt the child’s clammy fingers, their throat raw from choking on water and blood. Maybe saying something would release some of that discomfort.

“I dreamt of fate,” they admitted. “And I cannot say more than that.”

They started up the stairs again, and Lenore didn’t hide her elation. She didn’t speak again, not even when they entered the High Hall. She started to melt into the background, but Sawyer turned and made direct eye contact.

She stood at attention, another soldier willing to take their orders. Lenore wasn’t even under their command, and that sent a chill down their back. She was probably new, from the same recruitment as Diren. Neither of them could have been older than fifteen. Just kids, too young to be a soldiers.

_As if you can talk. >> _

“Thank you, Lenore.” Sawyer flashed a tight smile. They wished they could know if this child would survive the next year. “For fetching me and for being brave enough to ask your question.”

She dipped her head and left the room.

They swiveled toward a room sectioned off from the hall itself. When they got close, they could hear the conversation inside. They stopped and tried to make themself look presentable. They _had_ been sleeping for some time, so their clothes were a little rumpled.

“… bond with crawlers, too?”

Gregor the Overlander. They paused, head cocked to see if he would speak further, but no.

“I would as soon bond with a stone.” Henry laughed, and Sawyer had to bite their tongue to keep from speaking. “At least _it_ could be counted not to run away in battle.”

“And, perhaps, you could throw it.” Luxa paused with a snort. “I suppose you could throw a crawler.”

Another jab at the crawlers’ expense was thrown back while Sawyer looked up to Celeste. She murmured a warning about their hair underneath Vikus’s reminder of why the crawlers should be respected.

Silence fell, and Sawyer pushed the curtain open to join the conversation. Celeste swept past into one of the empty seats, but Sawyer remained standing. They avoided looking at the Warrior. They hated they he was just a kid. A middle schooler, chosen to fight a war he never asked for.

Their gaze landed on the toddler he arrived with instead.

 _Where tick?_  

They shook the thought from their head. They would have time to sift through the dream later. They had to play nice for Vikus, play soldier for Solovet, play prophet for everyone else. They forced a smile. They weren't sure if they kept it from erring into a grimace or not.

“I try not to disrespect anyone who could prove an enemy, though _try_ is highly emphasized,” Sawyer said on their way to the seat between Celeste and Vikus. They turned a pointed gaze on Solovet in the same breath. “If you could spare a moment after dinner, General, I’d love to have a word with you.”

“Of course you would.” She watched them with barely disguised suspicion before shaking her head and looking back to Gregor.

Silence.

Then, Vikus cleared his throat.

“This,” he explained with a gesture in their direction. “Is our prophet and their bond, Celeste. Sawyer has spent a considerable amount of time in Regalia since they were very young. Sawyer, you briefly met Gregor and his sister, Boots, at the arena.”

Gregor straightened up, eyes on Sawyer. They had to stop themself from flinching under that gaze. What would he ask them?

“So, you’ve left? Gone back to the surface?” He leaned forward in his eagerness. “How?”

 _Oh!_ They relaxed into their chair and lifted a hand to brush over the edge of Celeste’s wing. _Bless the child who hears ‘prophet’ and doesn’t ask any follow-up questions._

“It’s easy to get around when you have friends who can fly.” They ducked out of the way when Celeste tried to buffet them with the same wing. When they came back up, it was with a grin. “Before I had access to fliers, well—”

“It matters not,” Vikus interrupted. He shot a warning look at Sawyer, but they weren’t bothered. “Any attempt to take either of you to the surface tonight would only end in death.” Sawyer shrugged. Gregor fell back in his seat, eyes calculating. He must not have been deterred, then. No one wants to be told they can’t go home, after all.

_Well—_

No one looked like they wanted to talk after that.

Once the food came in, Sawyer tried to disregard the conversation. It was hard, though, when they were talking about the history of the Underland. They had read too many scrolls to count about how the Underlanders had arrived.

They’d only started asking questions and calling bullshit a couple years earlier.

Not to mention all the things Vikus was leaving out. Even in the history Sawyer definitely didn’t believe was true, there were still enough awful things to turn anyone with a moral compass against Bartholomew of Sandwich. Genocide, endless war, too-convenient alliances.

 _Don’t get yourself worked up_ , the Seer warned them. _There’ll be other times to tell him the truth that won’t scare him away._

Sawyer sighed. Then they perked up at the name Fred Clark.

“What happened to him?” Gregor asked.

Sawyer stared at their plate. No one else spoke for a few moments.

“He died,” Sawyer murmured before anyone else could. The last time they saw Fred Clark, he was wasting away in the palace hospital. He refused to leave. Even after he got sick, after it would have been safe to fly to the surface, he wanted to know as much as he could about the Underland. “He lasted six months without the sun.”

Gregor gaped at them, then turned to look at his sister. They weren’t sure if it was what they knew or if it was really so obvious that he intended to make a break for it.

Sawyer resumed eating without another word. No one spoke about Overlanders for the rest of the meal. Solovet gave them vague information about where the war lines were out in the deadlands. Sawyer wished they could keep war from breaking, but there was never any hope of an outsider keeping that pot from boiling over. That decision had always been with the Regalians and their enemies. The only way to get to the end was to play the game they all thought they were a part of.

As much as they hated it, they would have to follow Sandwich’s instructions to get there.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite wanting to get out as soon as possible, Gregor loitered outside the dining hall to listen in on the lingering conversation. Dulcet had already taken Boots back to the baths to clean the food that hadn’t made it into her mouth away. He would go down, too, in just a minute.

“There is no chance you are mistaken?” Solovet asked.

Sawyer grumbled something he couldn’t catch, then, “I had a dream before dinner. If I’m reading the signs wrong, then something _else_ is happening we should be preparing for.”

“ _What?_ ” Vikus cut in, sharper than Gregor could have expected his voice to go. “Why did you not say something before?”

“And scare him away?” Gregor moved closer without thinking. “He already doesn’t want to be here. If I had any choice, I’d fly him to the surface myself.”

“That is not your decision to make,” Solovet warned. “You know better than most—”

“I know.” Footsteps approached the doorway, and Gregor backpedaled. He had a feeling the Underlanders wouldn’t think his eavesdropping was very cool. “Trust me, I know.”

“You had better prepare yourself for a quest, then, _prophet_.”

The footsteps halted, and Gregor froze. He hardly dared to breathe.

“There is no need to be hostile, Solovet. Sawyer knows what they are doing,” Vikus said reproachfully. “But you must be ready to join the children.”

“I am only as much a part of this quest as you are.” Sawyer’s voice was too close to the door. Gregor took another step back amid the silence following the declaration.

“And are you certain this is wise?” Solovet asked stiffly. “Allowing three children to travel alone?”

“Four, actually—”

Gregor backed right into someone and spun around. Mareth watched him with a slight smile. He turned back toward the hallway and Gregor followed. So much for not getting caught.

“I can explain,” Gregor said, even though he absolutely could not. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“Do not worry, Overlander. Our prophet likely said nothing they would not like you to hear.”

“Are they a real prophet, then?” He asked.

Mareth gave him a strange look over his shoulder. It made Gregor feel foolish, but prophets weren’t real. They were for books and history classes. No one could see the future, after all. “That is their official title, though they would rather it not be. It is true enough.”

He didn’t believe it for a second, but it was certainly strange. That look they’d given him in the arena, the tangible change in the air he’d felt. He still couldn’t put his finger on what the difference was, but something had happened.

 _They have greatly anticipated your arrival and they would never miss an opportunity to impress_ , Vikus had said.

Gregor knew, immediately, he had to get back home as soon as possible.

——

“Are you returning to sleep?”

Sawyer hunched even closer to the journal on the table, still lingering in the High Hall. They nearly had the dream written out. They wished they’d been able to transcribe it earlier, rather than struggling to remember through the fog of dreams the words Solovet’s questions begged for in response.

 _There was a lot more there than answers you would have given anyway._ The Seer hummed to the arhythmic scratch of their pencil on paper. _We have a couple hours before we have to get Mareth to track your warrior down, so—_

A wing hit the back of Sawyer’s head, only hard enough to get their attention. They turned in their chair to find Celeste watching them impatiently.

“Sawyer,” she said, more than a little exasperated. “As we don’t know when the Prophecy of Gray will truly begin, I’d like to rest as much as possible beforehand. I would _also_ like to know you will not collapse in a dangerous situation.”

“I always have more energy in the dark,” they muttered. “The fear does that.”

“You know I’m being serious.”

They sighed. “I know. Go ahead and sleep. I’ll make sure to get some more rest tonight.”

They raised a hand, which Celeste didn’t hesitate to lock her claw with. They maintained eye contact for a few seconds before Celeste dropped her wing and took off out of the palace. Sawyer watched her until she veered out of sight.

They were already being a _phenomenal_ bond, making her worry like that.

_Would it be out of line to call y’all diamonds? ^w^_

Sawyer pursed their lips. “Literally shut the fuck up with your universe blurring. If we’re going there, you and I both know you’re as much of a pale slut as I am.”

 _Listen, I’ve been thinking it_ forever _. Damn._

“Just because I’m getting into Homestuck again doesn’t mean you get to call every single friend I have my moirail,” Sawyer muttered.

_I mean, you certainly act like it._

“ _Stop!_ ”

_Just calling it like I see it. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯_

Sawyer groaned and turned back to their journal while the Seer laughed. _Can you just let me focus?_ They thought. _We’re running out of time._

_Aren’t we always?_

The presence of the Seer withdrew, just close enough for Sawyer to draw on their energy. They hunched back over the journal, pencil gripped too tight between their fingers. The feeling of writing a script while also reading from it walked a line between exhausting and nerve-wracking.

If Celeste was right, that their duty would be over when the warrior’s was, perhaps the feeling would be gone soon. They pressed the pencil back to the paper with that in mind, unsure what they would do if they were wrong. What do you do, after all, when you’d given everything in the hopes of being set free?

——

The silence of the sleeping castle put Gregor on edge. He’d followed the sound of running water long enough that he wasn’t sure he would be able to find the room he’d been given even if he wanted to. He wasn’t even sure if the sound of the water was really getting louder or if he was losing it.

Dulcet had told him the bath water went to the river, but what if there wasn’t even a way to get there from inside the palace? It would have been too obvious to ask, and—

“Ah. You are certainly up late.”

Gregor stopped dead, face to face with Sawyer the Prophet. Their bland gaze didn’t say much, not about whether they approved of him wandering the palace or whether they were surprised to see him.

He had to think fast. He could lie and say he was just looking around, but with his sister on his back would that really fly? Would he be able to laugh it off under that blank stare? Either way, he had to say something.

“Yeah, uh,” he stuttered. “I couldn’t sleep.”

To his surprise, they smiled and nodded.

“Many have trouble sleeping when they first fall.” They peered over his shoulder and their eyes softened at Boots, whose head had rolled to the side. “It is easier for the youngest of us, but…”

Something passed over their expression Gregor couldn’t read. With how they talked and acted, it was hard to remind himself they came from the surface, too.

And they had said they wanted him to go home. Before he could decide whether it was safe to ask for their help, their smile widened and something changed in their eyes. A subtle change in the color maybe, or just the way they looked at him.

“I always found that spending time at the docks helped lull my mind to sleep.” They shrugged and sidestepped to pass him. He turned to track their retreat. Could he really be that lucky? “Just take the stairs as far down as they go and follow the sound of the water. You can’t miss it.”

They disappeared _up_ the stairs, and Gregor had to bite his tongue to keep from screaming his thanks. He had his way out.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he couldn’t help wondering if Sawyer knew he was trying to escape or if it really was a coincidence. He still didn’t think they could possibly be a prophet, but they seemed a hell of a lot more perceptive than they just acted.

——

_If you don’t slow down, you’re going to black out before you can get back to bed._

Sawyer gritted their teeth and slowed to a speedwalk. Their heart bounded against their chest and their breath came in ragged bursts after taking the stairs at a jog. It would take Gregor no more than ten—

_—twelve, actually—_

—minutes to reach the docks. They didn’t know what he was planning to do there, just that it involved an escape attempt. The phantom sensation of that wall of water slamming into them turned their blood to ice, but they had to push that away. They had to find—

“Mareth!”

The soldier stopped dead poked and his head back around the corner. To Sawyer’s surprise, Perdita backtracked back into their line of sight as well. Two loyal soldiers, perfect.

“Yes, My Prophet?” he asked with only a touch of humor. “I was under the impression you were in need of rest.”

They shook their head and gestured back toward the stairs. “Find your bond and make for the docks. I fear the Overlander may not understand the dangers he has been warned of.”

Mareth didn’t waste the time it would take to acknowledge the order before bolting toward the stairs. Perdita waited only long enough to fix them with a question in  the form of a pointed gaze before following him. She didn’t say anything, but Sawyer had a feeling she had a lot she wanted to.

Sawyer should have stopped by to speak with her earlier in the day, but they couldn’t change that mistake. They shook their head and tried to order their thoughts. The docks, then… what?

They stared blankly at the wall. They should have spent more time planning this out before rushing out. From the variant visions they’d seen, their interference may not have been needed at all. Something told them, however, that the future of the Underland swung in the balance.

 _Think of the timeline like a wild animal,_ the Seer cut in, forcing your thoughts to a halt. _You made this one dependent on you. We’ve been over this._

“You say that like I retain any information the first time I hear it.” They close their eyes and try to think. If an Overlander survived an attempt to flee Regalia, what would happen next?

_You’re a sponge for slander and you know it. You’re normally smarter than this, it’s right on the tip of your tongue._

“You’re distracting me,” they muttered. _And I’m barely functional. I can’t wait to get into the tunnels where the visions can’t reach me._

 _Put yourself in Gregor’s shoes,_ they insisted. _If you did something as stupid as run away unarmed, what would happen the second you returned to the palace?_

Sawyer’s eyes snapped open, and they made a beeline back to the stairwell. They didn’t try to run. The behavior of the Regalians tended to be predictable in a crisis: You either got a sledgehammer or calculated strategy fueled by rage and cunning respectively.

 _You have two choices tonight with little change in the outcome of each,_ the Seer muttered, quiet and clinical.

Solovet took the time to sift through her initial reactions and turned them into war plans. There was a reason she was the general. Luxa could be brash and explosive, but she was eleven. The only one with any sense that could be relied upon to have an instant reaction other than ‘you’re an idiot’ was Vikus.

_Really? Choices aren’t usually on the table for us._

He was something of an exception to the rule of automatic violent assumptions in the Underland. Even Sawyer envied his ability to see all sides of a problem.

_Option one: You go to sleep after speaking to Vikus. Everything goes well without your supervision, but it takes some time to get caught up in the morning._

“They must be mistaken. No warrior would be fool enough to brave the caverns alone with an infant.”

Sawyer stopped dead at the doorway into the halls near the royal suites, head cocked to one side. Two sets of footsteps tapped down the hall, growing further away rather than closer. Whoever walked with Luxa spoke too low for Sawyer to identify, and she didn’t answer.

Sawyer waited, breath held, for the footsteps to fade.

_That was close. Option two?_

Luxa, of course, couldn’t understand the surface. Especially with some of the stories Sawyer had to tell of their own life there, she couldn’t know just how safe the Overland was compared to her life. She had no reason to believe Gregor might not know the dangers.

_Tell him to alert the council and speak to the kid yourself. You won’t be able to sleep for some time, but you also won’t lose control of the situation._

They had only to take a step out of the stairwell to nearly run into Vikus. Surprise kept him quiet a beat too long to question them. Sawyer had a choice to make, and just that instant to make it.

And crumbling self control made the decision for them.

_This isn’t our story._

“I would be grateful if you could convince the council to hold off on meeting until I wake tomorrow,” they said with more than a touch of pleading to their voice. “There are many plans to make, and I have a feeling I will want a say in most of them.”

“You know of the situation?” Sawyer tried not to be offended at his surprise.

“I do.”

“And you do not plan to act?”

Sawyer took a step back and looked at him in a marginally different light. He’d been dealing with the prophet for nine years, and they certainly had shoved their nose in many places it didn’t belong. Perhaps, with the warrior in the Underland, it could be seen as strange for them to keep their distance.

They flashed a tired smile.

“Celeste will have my head if I fail to get to bed tonight.” They sidestepped Vikus and relaxed slightly when he didn’t try to stop them. “You are far more capable in these matters than I am, anyway.”

“I would not say that.” He turned to watch them shuffle backward down the hall. “You have made more progress on some fronts than I.”

They shrugged, though he definitely had them there.

“I doubt it counts if I remain the only one safe from your enemies.” Sawyer turned, eager to not talk about their pitiful attempts at diplomacy. “Good night, Vikus.”

He called a wish for fair dreams. Sawyer grimaced and hoped they would not dream at all.


	7. Chapter 7

Gregor didn’t quite know what was going on. Mareth had brought him to a room off the High Hall for breakfast and left without much explanation.

He’d been told some council wanted to talk to him. He still hadn’t been called into the room even though Mareth made it sound like there wasn’t a lot of time before the meeting. From another room attached to the High Hall Vikus’s voice rose occasionally, but it was still too far away to understand.

“…to be kept waiting.”

Gregor perked up at Mareth’s voice. Maybe he would have news. Then he heard who he was talking to.

“I didn’t expect to sleep that long,” Sawyer the Prophet said in a sleepy mutter, rougher than they’d spoken the day before. The two of them entered the High Hall side by side and Sawyer sat at the other end of the table to serve themself breakfast. “Yesterday was _long_.”

“The council may be able to hear you, _My Prophet_ ,” Mareth reminded them pleasantly. Based on Sawyer’s snort and his answering grin, Gregor assumed it was a joke between them. He seemed to notice Gregor for the first time. “Ah, Overlander. Perdita and the others are healing nicely, I thought you might want to know.”

Gregor melted back into his chair in relief. At least everyone would make it. He wouldn’t want to be the cause of more death in a place like Regalia.

“How fare you, Gregor?” Sawyer asked, voice measured like the Regalians again. “I hear I slept through an exciting night.”

Gregor hesitated.

With everyone talking about prophecies and Gregor’s place in one, what would a _prophet_ think about it? They had said they wanted to take him home and told him where the docks were. Did they believe the Regalians had the wrong guy, too?

He wanted to kick himself. Prophecies weren’t real! Sawyer was just some mysterious person who’d fallen down and years ago and got a fancy job. They were probably some kind of con artist for everyone to believe they were a prophet.

Then again, Mareth had said they didn’t like the title.

“I’m fine,” he said after a short pause. It was safe enough. “I’m just glad everyone else is okay, too.”

They smiled, evidently pleased with that answer, and finished their plate in record time. Mareth made a pained face when they wiped their mouth with the back of their hand and pushed away from the table. “Well, Gregor, we ought to put the council out of its misery. We have little time thanks to my delay.”

They breezed past him with Mareth on their heels. Gregor scrambled up to follow them into the chamber where about a dozen Underlanders about Vikus’s age, including the man himself and Solovet sat around a round table. Even Luxa sat a seat removed from the rest, brooding over whatever trouble she must have gotten in.

Sawyer took the seat between Luxa and one of the councilmembers. Gregor sat across the table from the bulk of them, a few seats between him and anyone else.

The council asked him a ton of questions while Luxa remained silent. Every once in a while, Sawyer would ask him something even though the looks some of the members gave them suggested they weren’t part of the council. The ones that weren’t glaring seemed just as happy to hear from them as they were Gregor.

While the council asked general things about his life in the Overland, Sawyer asked for more specifics, things that only another Overlander would think to ask. About his mom and where she worked, what branch of science his father taught, school, holiday traditions, whether or not he liked coffee. He still didn’t think any of it mattered to the current situation, but he figured it would go faster if he played along.

They didn’t really become an active part of the conversation until the council turned away from him and started discussing the prophecy. They interrupted far more often, at least, and spoke for longer periods of time. Gregor noticed that that was the only time Luxa was really attentive, even if he couldn’t quite catch most of what was being said.

After some time of discussion, Gregor had to remind them he _wasn’t_ the warrior. That he wanted to find his dad.

That just got them more excited, though. The prophet watched him a little longer than the others, but eventually they rejoined the argument.

Vikus cleared his throat. “Before we decide, I wish to ask our prophet: Do you believe Gregor the Overlander is the warrior or Sandwich’s prophecy?”

They tilted their head and studied Gregor with that same glimmer in their eyes he’d seen the night before. He still couldn’t tell if it was a trick of the light or if they’d really changed.

Then, they nodded. “I do. I am certain he is who you have waited for.” Gregor’s heart dropped through the floor, but they weren’t done. “So, if you please, get your vote out of the way. His father has been away from his family far too long, after all.”

They gave him a significant look and Gregor got it. They were doing him a favor, whether he was the warrior or not.

“My thoughts exactly,” Vikus agreed, though he gave them a strange look that they didn’t react to. “Who here is in agreement that Gregor the Overlander is the warrior of The Prophecy of Gray?”

All but one of the council members raised their hands. Neither Sawyer or Luxa did, which confirmed they weren’t part of the council. Then again, Luxa probably thought he was the warrior about as much as he did.

Gregor was ready to go, and it sounded like the quest was happening as soon as possible. He mentioned he needed to get his sister before they could go and the council immediately argued against him taking her.

But…

They had to stay together!

Many of the councilmembers turned to face Sawyer. They raised their eyebrows, obviously surprised. They’d said they weren’t going on the quest the night before, hadn’t they?

“I had thought the prophet—”

“Pass,” Sawyer cut over the loud-mouthed councilmember. They rose from their seat and the Underlanders quieted down. Something changed in the way they stood, cool and aloof rather than the amused exhaustion they’d slouched through the meeting with. “Mareth, stay with the warrior in the following hours. Our time has run out.”

Mareth, still at attention just behind them, nodded and muttered something Gregor couldn’t hear. He moved to leave their side, but before he could take more than a step a bat and rider careened into the room through the doorway.

Gregor shot to his feet and watched in a distant shock. Both of them were very obviously hurt, blood flowed free from the rider’s chest and the bat’s broken wing. He barely heard the warning of the rats on their way.

The two rats that attacked him had been found. Dread and nausea settled in him like a stone. He thought that was over, that those injured were healing.

But he knew, even if no one would say it, that the dead soldier on the floor was his fault.


	8. Chapter 8

With the message being spread around Regalia that the gnawers were on their way, Sawyer couldn’t help a little bit of guilty relief. They wouldn’t have to perform for the Regalians anymore soon. The darkness of the tunnels did something with their visions, made them less vivid and kept them to the waking world.

They still weren’t sure whether it was that or the lingering dread of being in the dark that made them less prone to fatigue outside of Regalia.

They managed to catch Vikus before he could gather Gregor. They hated the fear in the old man’s eyes. They hated that they knew it would be there and they couldn’t tell anyone.

They hated knowing just as much as they hated the parts they didn’t know.

“Did you meet with our friend in the night?” they asked, though they already knew the answer.

He flicked a glance around the room and nodded. “We will meet him not far from the spinner’s webs.”

They grimaced but didn’t argue. They bid him to wait for them and left the room at a speed walk. Not a run, obviously, or they would be scolded for burning energy before getting into the tunnels.

They had one more person they had to see or they would never hear the end of it. They had trained together and Sawyer tried to see her whenever they came to the city.

Perdita, of course, threw a cup at them the second they found her in the hospital. They let her scold them, tell them how thoughtless it was to go to Regalia and take no time to find her, how she absolutely knows they knew the Overlander was going to leave before he did, how she blames every injury on them. They let her, and they bowed their head in shame because she only repeated the things they already thought.

“The last I saw you, darkness swallowed you on the border,” she accused. “Explain yourself.”

“Ah.” They finally pulled a chair out and sat at her bedside. “There were gnawers further in the tunnel. If they were found by a patrol, there would have been casualties.”

“So you decided to fend them off on your own?” She looked like if, had she had another cup, she would have thrown it, too.

“I—” They looked away. They thought of the hissing conversation they’d had with the rats, a safe passage decided on, and their escape. No bloodshed, and that was what mattered. They dropped the act. “Something like that.”

She narrowed her eyes. Sawyer tried not to look at her. Tried not to think of all they had to keep even from their friends. Tried to think of a way to explain without either lying or giving themself away.

“You haven’t actually seen me fight,” they reminded her lightly. “And you won’t as long as I follow Solovet’s orders. I can’t defy her so obviously.”

All fire swept away from Perdita, and she looked away. “More secrets, then?”

Sawyer winced. “I don’t want it either. You know that.”

“I do.” She slumped back on her bed. “Will you ever share them with me?”

They smiled and rose from their chair. The others were surely waiting for them. “By the time this is all over, I won’t have any secrets left.”

“That is something, at least.” She sighed and offered them a smile. “I am glad to have seen you. What pressing business must you rush to this time?”

They backed toward the door with a flash of a grin. “Gotta help gather the rest of the questers.”

Her eyes widened. “So he is the warrior?”

They nodded and held their damn tongue.

They turned to leave without telling her they didn’t approve of child soldiers. That no _eleven year-old_ should have to carry a title with so much blood attached to it. That children learning to use a sword from the moment they can hold one was cruel and damaging.

That seeing another kid forced into this kind of work by fate put them on edge.

It had them grinding their teeth even as they entered the museum to gather the pack they kept in the Underland for ease of access. They kept it at the very end to make sure curious eyes and impulsive hands would keep out of it. They somehow made it to their pack and had it open to check the contents before they realized something in the room wasn’t how it should have been.

They took their bag with them and turned to find Gregor sifting through junk closer to the entrance. He wasn’t all that subtle about watching them out of the corner of his eyes, either. He was trying though, so they shrugged and turned to the closest table to see what new Things™ fell since their last visit.

They didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but the silence made _them_ uncomfortable.

“How are you handling all of this?” they asked, though they couldn’t quite shake the Regalian tempo. Well, they were stuck with it for the conversation.

The sound of shuffling paused, then started again. They squinted at a pocket knife while they waited for him to speak. Was another knife really necessary?

“My dad’s alive.” It was almost too quiet to hear. “That’s good, I guess.”

“I would not—” They paused and reminded themself they didn’t need to act. They might have been stuck with the sound, not the formality. They pocketed the knife for good measure.“I don’t want it to be like this. If I could, I would steal your father back without involving you and the other kids.”

“Why not do it, then?” he muttered.

They shifted to the next pile of debris. Really, how much time did they have? “Sometimes what we want and what we can do aren’t the same. I can’t do it on my own, and this is the only way Solovet will let anyone try.”

He stayed quiet long enough for Sawyer to get through a few more stacks and take a couple nice pens to take home later. Eventually, he coughed an obvious excuse-me cough and they looked up. He stood at the door with a backpack slung over his shoulder and a miner’s hat on his head.

 _Root beer. He needs it and he didn’t get any because you just can’t go anywhere without spooking or agitating people,_ the Seer cut in with an obnoxious notification chime. Sawyer tried not to be offended and glanced at the nearest group of stuff to find a can of soda.

 _K_.

“Thanks, I guess,” Gregor said without really looking at them. “You didn’t have to help me but you did, so… thanks.”

They reached for the soda and examined it. “Helping is my job. Besides, now I won’t be the only one with a title I hate.”

That startled a laugh out of him and he actually looked at them. They crossed the museum to hand over the soda. He stared blankly at it for a moment, then a spark of amusement curled the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, I didn’t see that.” After a second, his brow furrowed and he looked back to them in confusion. They hefted their own bag on their shoulders before he could ask.

“Sometimes a piece of home can save lives.” They brushed past him back into the halls where Mareth waited. They must have walked right past him without realizing it. “I’d save it for when you really need it, though.”

Gregor snorted. “Because I’ll really need _root beer_ while we’re fighting rats.”

“Weirder things have happened.”

Gregor shoved the can in his pack and the two of them started back toward the High Hall. Sawyer lamented again that a literal _child_ stood beside them with a supposed destiny dripping with blood. They would have taken his place in an instant if the Regalians would let them.

Gregor cleared his throat, effectively pulling Sawyer back out of their head. “So, uh. You’ve met other Overlanders down here?”

They glanced at him and hummed their assent.

“Did you ever meet my dad?” he asked, quieter this time.

“I did.” They chewed the inside of their cheek and tried to remember.

Tensions were running high on the borders and even Sawyer was forbidden from risking the trip to the surface for a few months. He fell in the middle of that. The Regalians were lucky to have found him before the gnawers. Though his need to return home was desperate, no one would let him leave the city.

He hardly went one conversation without mentioning his family. Whether it was something his wife said, his mother’s recipes, his pride in his children, or the unborn daughter he never got a chance to meet. His enthusiastic flow of speech would falter and his gaze would grow distant.

Sawyer would have brought him back to the surface with them once things calmed down, but he didn’t stay long enough. He fled only days before the gnawers drew back. It was only after news came that the Overlander was still alive that it was considered the retreat may have been sparked by finding such a prize.

But they didn’t want to say any of that out loud. It should be a story for his father to tell him when Gregor got him home.

“He’s a good man,” they said instead. “Even if it didn’t work, he just wanted to get back to you.”

He nodded, seemingly lost in thought.

They hit a junction. Sawyer glanced to the left, in the direction of the kitchens, and remembered a promise they’d made. They stopped and turned back to Mareth. “Tell Vikus to go ahead without me if I take too long. I can catch up.”

He nodded. “We still must retrieve the baby. You may make it if you make haste.”

Sawyer muttered a hurried goodbye to Gregor and turned on their heel to return to the museum.


End file.
